


Just a Little Off

by onlyastoryteller



Series: A Room For The Night [10]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Late Night Conversations, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, facetime calls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24210421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller
Summary: During the pandemic, Armie is isolating in the Caymans, Timmy is in New York. Then Timmy makes a late night post, and Armie makes a call...
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: A Room For The Night [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1217478
Comments: 33
Kudos: 200





	Just a Little Off

**Author's Note:**

> A little spark of inspiration from Timmy's "pantry" photo on IG.
> 
> 100% fiction ( _probably_ ).

To Armie, waking up in the middle of the night always felt like he was misplaced in time. 

The disorientation was immediate, but even once he realized where and _when_ he was, things were still off. Like he he was just slightly out of sync with the earth, trying to catch up with its rotation and slipping farther away. 

He didn’t quite trust the time on his phone — **_2:32AM_ ** — and so he tossed the covers back and rolled off the bed. He staggered out of the bedroom and into the unit’s small kitchen to check the clock on the microwave. It matched his phone, which didn’t solve the problem, just made him not trust the microwave either _(electronics out to get_ _him)_. 

Hiking up his pajama pants — he’d stretched out the waistband on this pair, which made them slip down his hips — he poured a glass of water and downed it. That made him feel a little better, but something was still not quite right. Rather than going back to bed, he crossed the living area and opened the door to the balcony. 

The night air was warm and heavy. It would probably rain before morning. Armie stepped out onto the balcony, closed the door behind him, and settled on the lounger. This is what he needed: a few minutes of listening to the sound of the ocean, and he’d be able to get back to sleep. 

He unlocked his phone and checked his email ( _nothing important_ ), his texts ( _nothing new_ ), scrolled through Twitter mentions ( _still talking about the Mohawk),_ and then Instagram. As soon as he opened the app, he paused. 

_Timmy._

He glanced at the bottom, saw the post had been uploaded four minutes ago. Right around when he woke up. He smiled. There was that fucking _thing_ again _(spookily in tune)_ , which would be scary if it didn’t make him feel so damned good. 

He squinted at the post. What the fuck was that? The inside of Timmy’s kitchen cupboard? He scanned the items and rolled his eyes. 

Then, deciding he didn’t have the patience to continue staring at it or the thousands of comments already rolling in ( _everybody wants a piece of him_ ) he flicked over to his contacts and launched a call. 

The face that greeted him was blurry for a second before it came into focus. Timmy shoved his hair off of his forehead and grinned. 

“What are you doing awake?” Timmy asked. 

“Woke up. Was thirsty. Saw your post.” Armie couldn’t help but grin back. He’d talked to the kid mere hours earlier...but that never changed the delight that danced in his chest and stomach _(and everywhere else)_ every time he saw that face. “Same question. It’s nearly four in the morning in New York.”

“Oh, I...can’t sleep.” Timmy mumbled the last bit into his shoulder, but Armie caught it. 

“Still? Babe, you said that was just the one night—"

“I know. I didn’t want you to worry.”

Armie sighed, spotting the dark shadows under his eyes and annoyed they had slipped his notice before _(self-absorbed again, Hammer)_. “I wish you’d let me worry about what I’m worried about,” he said. “Has this been going on all week?”

Timmy shrugged. “Kind of.”

“What’s causing it?” Armie asked. “Your folks okay?”

“They’re fine. They’re bored, but they’re fine. It’s not anything, Armie, it’s just...stuff.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “You know, not knowing what’s going to happen or when my projects will start up again. If I’m going to even be _able_ to go back to London in the fall. Is this going to be the thing that kills my momentum? And what about everyone else? People who are losing their jobs and businesses going under and school that—“

“Okay, woah,” Armie said. He sat up, sliding his legs off on either side of the lounger. “Hey, I think I understand. That’s what's going on in your head right now?”

Timmy nodded. He bit into his lower lip and let out a shaky breath, and Armie squeezed the phone tight, cursing every damned thing ( _fucking Coronavirus)_ that was keeping him from pulling the kid into his arms right this second. 

“You know,” Armie said, “that it’s not your responsibility to solve every single problem in the world.”

“I know that. But what, you’re saying I just shouldn’t worry about any of it if I can’t fix all of it? Just _oh well not my problem_ it all?” The phone shook as Timmy stood from wherever he was and began to pace the room. 

“Come on, that’s not what I’m saying and you know it,” Armie said. “I just mean that you literally can’t solve all of these problems, and that makes you feel helpless. But guess what? You’re not helpless. You can pick something, put your energy into that. Making some difference somewhere is significant even if it feels like you’re barely making a dent in the big picture.”

Timmy sighed, and flopped onto his bed. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

“Of course it is.” 

They watched each other silently for a moment. Timmy was smiling, but there was a tiny wrinkle between his eyes.

“What else is wrong?” Armie asked. 

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Try me.”

Timmy rolled onto his side. “It’ll just make you feel shitty too and I don’t want that.”

“Tim—“ The warning in Armie’s voice was clear. 

“I miss you.”

Armie blew out a breath, closed his eyes. There it was. All the other stuff, the whirling of thoughts in Timmy’s head, would go away if Armie was there. Something about his presence settled all of Timmy’s crackling edges, gave him a peace he almost never found alone _(same for you, stop kidding yourself)._

“I miss you too, baby.” Armie thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Want me to help you get to sleep like I do?”

“How? You gonna climb through the phone? Some new technology I don’t know about?”

“Trust me?”

“Fine.”

Armie chewed on his lip a moment. “Go grab a bunch of towels or blankets.”

“Am I about to make a fake you?” Timmy looked suddenly delighted. “Do I get to give him a Joe Exotic mustache?”

“Shut up and just—“

“Got it. Hang on.” Timmy set the phone down and disappeared from view. 

He was gone a while, and when he finally got back, he was a little breathless. He peered down at the phone, his curls cascading around him so that his face appeared at the end of a tunnel of hair. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I had to be really quiet. My mom already woke up when I went looking for a snack before.”

“What’s the heaviest thing you found?” Armie asked. 

“Um...this, probably.” Timmy reached offscreen and reappeared with a bundle of dark red fabric. “It weighs a ton.”

“Put that aside. Now I want you to roll up the rest into a bundle and lay it on one side of the bed, just off center.”

“Under or over the covers?”

“Over.”

Armie listened to the rustling sounds as Timmy followed his instructions. 

Finally, he came back into view.

“Done. Now what?”

“Take that heavy blanket and roll it up so it’s a long tube,” Armie said. 

After a moment, Timmy held it up. “Like this? What’s it for?”

Armie squinted at the long, limp roll of blanket. “Actually, fold it in half first, and then roll it.”

Timmy rolled his eyes, but followed instructions. 

“Good. Now stick that across the other bundle, sort of two-thirds of the way up. Perpendicular.”

“Perpendicular. You can’t just say ‘crosswise’?” Timmy snickered. “Perpendicular.”

“Making fun of my mustache, and my words...I can hang up if you’d rather,” Armie said _(never happen)_. 

“No, no don’t.” Timmy grabbed up the phone quickly. “I’m sorry, don’t hang up.”

“I’m not,” Armie reassured him. “Now go turn off the light and get in bed.”

“I need a drink of water first.”

“Then go get —“

“And use the bathroom. And actually I should probably take this plate to the kitchen, there’s honey on it, I don't want to get ants.”

Armie smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. 

“I’m going, hold on, I’ll be right back.” The view spun crazily as Timmy tossed the phone onto the bed.

Armie was treated to a close-up view of Timmy’s dark brown comforter. He hoped this would work. He wished he could just be there, or have Timmy here, but this would have to do. 

He frowned out at the ocean. This stretch was the longest they had spent apart since they’d met, and he knew it had been rough on Timmy _(rough on both)._ The one thing keeping him sane was knowing that they had always planned to be apart almost this long because of their respective stage commitments anyway. 

But now...there was no way of knowing when exactly this would end. And when it _did_ end, how much time they’d have together before they had to scurry off to different ends of the earth for work. The uncertainty was stressful. 

Well, he did have a bit of news that might make Timmy sleep better. Something he hadn't been planning to tell him yet, because there were still arrangements to make. But…

The light in the room went off, and the screen went dark. Timmy’s voice came through the speaker. “Okay, I’m getting into bed.”

He bounced around a minute and then, from the light coming through the phone, Armie could tell he was lying on his side, the comforter tucked around him. 

“Scoot back until you can feel the blankets behind you,” Armie said. 

“Done. It’s very cozy.”

“Good,” Armie chuckled. “Take that heavy roll and drape it over your waist.”

“Hmmmm.” Timmy wiggled a little and then let out a long sigh. “It does kind of feel like an arm holding me. That’s what you’re going for right?”

“It’s not _an_ arm,” Armie said. “It’s _my_ arm. And you’re right, the blankets are me. A slightly softer, less smelly version of me.”

“Yeah these smell like lavender detergent. But it’s nice.”

“Balance the phone on your ear,” Armie said. “You don’t need to see me right now because you’re going to close your eyes.” 

The screen went dark again, and Timmy said, “Okay.”

Armie smiled, because he already sounded sleepier. His voice had gone whispery and gravelly _(the best version)_. Armie pitched his own voice lower. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Timmy said. “Quieter, like this, with your voice in my ear.”

“I want you to let go of everything. You don’t need to worry about anything tonight because I’ve got you.”

“Armie?”

“Yes?”

“I still miss the real you, smelly or not.”

Armie laughed softly. “I miss smelly you too.”

“I don’t smell.” Timmy was smiling, Armie could hear it in his voice. 

“Prove it.”

“Take a whiff for yourself, anytime.”

“Okay, how’s a week from Tuesday?”

There was a stark silence on the line, and it stretched on so long Armie wondered if Timmy had somehow fallen asleep already. Finally, he whispered, “Tim?”

“Don’t make jokes about that,” Timmy said. He wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“I’m not,” Armie said. “Can you get yourself to LA? I’m coming home.”

“Really?” Timmy was almost breathless now. “A week from Tuesday? I’ll...figure it out. I’ll be there. Meet you at your place?”

“I’ll come straight from the airport. Plan to stay until you absolutely have to leave.”

“I'll stay until they drag me away.”

They were quiet a minute, but the silence had a happy vibration to it, a tangible excitement. There was an end date to this distance, finally. When Armie spoke again, he made sure his voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Imagine that I’m there, holding you. I’ve just kissed your neck, and you made that little sound—“

“Mmm.”

“Yes, that one. You’re tired, so I know you’re going to drift right to sleep, but still I want to talk to you. Tell you that I love you, and that there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be than wrapped around you like this. That falling asleep with you and waking up with you are the best moments of my day, because it’s when I know you’re really mine.”

“Yours,” Timmy murmured. “I love you, too.”

“I know. And it’s what makes me so sure that everything is going to work out. Loving you makes so much fucking sense that it makes all the nonsense around us fade away.”

Armie heard the deep, even breathing of sleep, and smiled. Without hanging up the phone, he went back into the condo, got himself another glass of water, and padded back to the bedroom. 

Once in bed, he closed his eyes and listened to Timmy sleeping for another fifteen minutes before ending the call. He set his phone aside, grabbed the pillows already lined up to his left, and curled his body around them. In a week and a half, they’d be real again _(no more substitutes)._

And just like that, Armie caught up with the rotation of earth once more and drifted into an easy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm onlyastoryteller on Tumblr if you want to yell at me.


End file.
